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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080847">over the edge (of all our knowings)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubsonthemoon/pseuds/chubsonthemoon'>chubsonthemoon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, M/M, Self-Reflection, gon has a newsletter!!, gon-centric, let gon say "y'all" agenda, post 2011 adaptation, tagged as a pairing but killua doesn't actually show up for most of it just fyi, the deer from botw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:13:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubsonthemoon/pseuds/chubsonthemoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gon Freecss, on healing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gon Freecs &amp; Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>over the edge (of all our knowings)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello!! this was supposed to be a very quick oneshot in an attempt to get inside greenboi's head and it spiraled into This. so mission accomplished ig?</p><p>title and song from ryn weaver's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npDEfH9xc7I">traveling song </a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I've never been one for goodbyes<br/>So, till I meet you there, I'm singing<br/>A traveling song to ease the ride and so you know</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everywhere I roam<br/>I'll see you on the road</em>
</p><p><em>—Traveling Song, </em>Ryn Weaver</p><hr/><p>The birds take flight, a million wings all at once. Gon stands at the edge of the canyon, delight incarnate.</p><p>He turns to his left. “Hey—”</p><p><em>Ah, it’s Spinner</em>. She doesn’t look away from the flight of the small-billed swans, but he can feel when her attention shifts to him. “I know, right?” she says, bubblegum still in her mouth. “Worth every Jenny, this view.”</p><p>“Got my money’s worth, for sure,” Kite says, and Gon startles again. He still hasn’t gotten used to Kite’s new body yet.</p><p>“Yeah.” Gon turns back to the birds, the canyon, the rising sun. He wonders why it looks less bright, now. “It’s beautiful.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hello, everyone!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope y’all are doing well! This is my first newsletter! I’m not very good at this, but Aunt Mito said that writing to y’all would be good practice for me (something about communication???), and I want to keep in touch with you guys, so this is a thing! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>First—here are some photos! The first one is from the World Tree. It was beautiful, and there were these ginormous birds up there, too. (Killua, you would’ve thought they looked funny!). Ging and I talked for hours. He’s a really cool guy, I’m so glad I got to meet him!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The second one is from the reserve where Spinner’s small-billed swans live! There were so many of them, it was like a cloud! Of birds!!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m on my way back to Whale Island again, if anyone ever wants to come visit (I just have to ask Aunt Mito first hehe). And if you’re in town when I pass by Heaven’s Arena, text me! I would love to talk!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Gon crests the hill, bathed in midday sunlight, and Aunt Mito looks up from her laundry; she stands. The familiarity of it all is comforting; it’s almost like he’s back from the market or the docks or the forest. Like it’s been nothing more than a long day away, and he’s back with fish freshly caught for dinner, or a new scrape or scratch that needs bandaging and a kiss.</p><p>He waves, arms windmilling as he runs. “Aunt Mito!”</p><p>He gets closer; her eyes brighten as she ducks under the line, the bedsheet still draped over her arm warm when she pulls him in for a hug.</p><p>“Gon,” she says, and Gon can’t help snuggling closer to her waist, breathing in the scent of the sea. When she steps back to get a better look at him, he grins, bright and wide.</p><p>“Welcome home,” she says softly.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear friends,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hello! I’m back home! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m happy to report that Aunt Mito hasn’t killed me for being so reckless on my last hunt. She was pretty mad when I told her about it, though :P. She asked a lot about Ging and I told her he seemed to be doing fine. (He’s on this email list but I doubt he sees these haha). Even though she looked kinda angry, she smiled a little when I told her about meeting him at the World Tree. I guess he hasn’t changed, even after all these years. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I keep walking around the island and thinking things should look different, now that I’ve actually met him. But for some reason, they don’t. Everything pretty much looks the same since the last time I came home with Killua. How funny is that?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hope you guys are doing ok! Stay safe out there, but have fun for me, too!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p><em>Home’s missing something</em> he realizes later that week. He’s sitting on the frame of his bedroom window, enjoying the breeze. It’s early morning, warmth starting to grow on the horizon, and he should be getting ready for a day trip to the market with Abe. But.</p><p>He can’t put his finger on the missing piece, but he knows it’s gone. Home is too…quiet, now. Still. Not that it bothered him before, but he had something to look forward to, then.</p><p>Probably something to do with his Nen.</p><p>Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have anything to do. There are his chores, and his homework, and running errands for Aunt Mito, and checking all of his old haunts around the island to see if anything’s changed (so far, nothing). Everything is the same as it’s always been: steady, comforting.</p><p>Nothing has changed, except for him. He feels like he’s both missing something old and carrying something new. Like there’s a weight that tethers him to earth, but the thing that lifted him up in the first place is gone, its upwards tug absent. He is grounded now, has the desire to fly but no longer the means.</p><p>Is it because he met Ging? He was why he became a Hunter in the first place, and now that goal has been fulfilled. So…he just has to find something new. Right?</p><p><em>Focus on what you can do now</em> Ging had said.</p><p>He’ll start there and see where it goes, he decides, and leaps from the window (it’s faster to the kitchen than taking the stairs). He can figure out what to do with what he’s been given, even though he really doesn’t deserve any of it.</p><p>As he walks with Abe, slow and steady, he realizes that this new feeling, one of loss that has nothing to do with his Nen, is strange, but it’s not bad.</p><p>Not bad. Just new.</p><p><em>Growing pains</em> he thinks as the sunlight hits the treetops.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>[Saved to Drafts]</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Killua,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I miss you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--Gon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He’s good at this, even now. The forest is all a blur around him, green and shadow and sometimes the sky through the trees above. This isn’t the first time he’s had to save someone from Whale Island’s few perils (mostly, cliffs and animals), but it’s been awhile, so he lets himself enjoy it.</p><p>He runs.</p><p>Cruise ships aren’t a frequent occurrence, but they aren’t uncommon, either. At least three times a year, a boat full of tourists will dock at their small port and unleash upon the island’s residents a wave of loud voices, families in matching T-shirts, and most importantly, business (Leorio would approve). Sometimes there are even Hunters, come to see where the legendary Ging Freeccs made his humble start, and Gon would make up stories to appease their curiosity: this outcropping here where Ging would face summer typhoons, or that patch of beach there where he dreamed of more. Looking back, Gon had been just as hungry as they were.</p><p>This is the first time there are people who have come to see Gon.</p><p>“Thank you for all you’ve done,” a woman had said at the docks this morning. She wore a wide-brim hat made of straw, and her eyes had been earnest as she pressed his hand.</p><p>Gon had felt something in his mouth sour, and he smiled small.</p><p><em>I didn’t do anything,</em> he had thought. <em>I didn’t do a damn thing.</em></p><p>Now, he runs. His one consolation for his newfound fame: the people he’s looking for evidently don’t know who he is, because if they did, they would’ve listened to his shouted warnings<em> not</em> to go to that part of the forest during this time of the year. <em>I should really put up signs or something.</em></p><p>He reaches the point where the claw marks dig deep into the tree bark and he slows, feet coming lightly to a stop. One—no, two—sets of tracks, faint disturbances in the soft soil, and a much larger swath of destruction that cuts deeper into the forest. Just to check, he crouches and confirms that the tourists had been chased, not the chasers.</p><p>Wandering into a foxbear’s territory during this time of year; he’s done the same, although he had been quite aware of the danger. As he stands, he catches a whiff of blood, and tenses. Animal or human?</p><p>Another cautious sniff—both.</p><p>He approaches cautiously, takes another breath just to be sure. No hint of anything else. So they’re smart enough to cover their scents but not quick enough to hide their steps; still amateurs.</p><p>Another few minutes; the dappled sunlight closes in on itself as he continues. He’s close.</p><p>Then—</p><p>He easily dodges the rock. <em>Found you.</em></p><p>The bullet, not so much.</p><p>It grazes his left side, a starburst of pain just under his arm, but it’s manageable. The problem is the blood. He crouches low to the ground and tears off a part of his shirt to staunch the bleeding. <em>Sorry, Aunt Mito.</em></p><p>“My name’s Gon,” he says into the gloom of the trees. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He finishes tying off his makeshift bandage, making quick work of the knot, and stands, slowly. “I live here. This part of the island is dangerous.” He keeps his voice low and soothing. “I can get you out of here, I promise. But you have to let me help you, first.”</p><p>Even Nenless, his senses are good; he hears the snap of a branch in the direction the bullet came from and takes a cautious step, his shoulders relaxed and his arms up in a placating gesture. “Please?”</p><p>He takes another step, and a young woman emerges from the shadows.</p><p>The first thing that Gon notices is that she is bleeding heavily from her arm. The second is the rifle at her side.</p><p>The third is—</p><p>She steps into the light, and long silver hair falls around her like a curtain; Gon sees the individual strands in the wind like spider silk and feels time pause, reflect back onto itself. He blinks, suspended in the symmetry.</p><p>Then she looks at him and brings her hands to cover her mouth, eyes wide and scared and full of tears. “I am so sorry,” she whispers. Her voice trembles along with her shoulders. “Please, help us.”</p><p>Her eyes are green. Not black, not blue.</p><p>Gon breathes and nods, once. Time returns to normal, and he walks forward, ignoring the fire in his side. “Of course,” he says.</p><p>He follows her into a clearing where the sunlight returns, three-quarters ringed by trees and the farthest side walled in by a smooth gray cliff.</p><p>The foxbear is nowhere to be seen, only broken branches and tilted trees following the trail of blood out of the clearing. Gon knows he can’t go after it now, not with two injured people to bring to safety. Besides, from the size of the tracks and the fact that it had backed off, it was probably an older foxbear, too time-weathered to bother much with difficult intruders.</p><p>So he turns to the couple. The woman with the silver hair is talking quietly to another woman with dark skin; she is leaning against the back of the cliff, her leg in bad shape from now-absent claws.</p><p>“What happened?” he asks, keeping his voice gentle. The fear and defiance in her eyes is a look he knows well.</p><p>She grits her teeth in pain, but she is calm. She had jumped in front of her wife just as the foxbear attacked and fired one shot into its shoulder; it had retreated after that.</p><p>They’d left before the rest of their fellow travelers had received the warnings, so they hadn’t known about the danger. They didn’t mean to shoot him; they thought it had come back and planned to defend themselves; they are so, so sorry.</p><p>Gon helps carry the woman who is injured. “It’s okay,” he says, and hides his wince from their apologies. “Now you know. C’mon, let’s go.”</p><p>Once they are safely at the docks, the woman with the silver hair thanks him as her wife is taken aboard on a stretcher.</p><p>“I don’t know what we would’ve done without you,” she says quietly.</p><p>A year ago, he would’ve been elated. He would’ve said <em>It’s no problem. I’m glad you’re safe.</em></p><p>He’s happy now, of course—happy to have been of help, happy to be the one to make things right for once.</p><p>But he can’t tell this woman that he enjoyed saving their lives, that their peril was his pleasure, so he gathers all the remaining brightness inside himself and says, “Of course. Please be more careful next time,” and leaves.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>[Saved to Drafts]</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Killua,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry, I did it again. But please don’t worry. This time, I cleaned up after myself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--Gon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aunt Mito tends to his injury that night, but not before she whacks him upside the head for not being more careful.</p><p>“When will you ever learn?” she says, making a second pass with the bandages around his waist.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” he says, wincing more at her frown than the pain (He’s felt worse, but he keeps that information to himself). “I got them out, though. I’m gonna put up a sign at the docks. If anyone chooses to go to that part of the forest, we’re not responsible for them!”</p><p>“And yet,” Aunt Mito says, tying off the last piece with a sharper tug than usual, “You still got hurt today, and while I’m glad they’re safe, it wasn’t your responsibility to go after those who can’t listen when people are speaking to them.” She stands, sighs as if defeated (she never will be, Gon knows). “I can only tell you to be more careful.”</p><p>“I will,” Gon says earnestly, trying to catch her eye. “I promise.”</p><p>“Walk the walk, pal,” she says, eye successfully caught, but her smile is fond. She puts the bandages back in the first aid kit and carries it to the hallway. “By the way.” Her voice floats through the kitchen door from out of sight.</p><p>“Yeah?” Gon does an experimental loop of his arms over his head, slow and steady. Yep, that’s gonna be sore in the morning.</p><p>He hears the muted <em>thunk </em>of the box on the floorboards. “A postcard came for you today.” He stills. “It’s on the counter.”</p><p><em>A postcard?</em> He slides off the stool and trots over.</p><p>Sure enough—a postcard. It’s a picture of a field of crystals at sunset, the rays of light refracting infinitely into one another, like the inside of a diamond spread out over the earth. Airships fly high above it all, their rounded sides turned to candleflame. Even in an image, the view is beautiful.</p><p><em>Diamond Meadows at sunset </em>the caption reads. Gon turns it over and sees familiar handwriting in blue ink, loopy and a little messy.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, Gon—</em>
</p><p><em>            Check this out. Cool, right? Alluka says hi </em>(hi, Gon!).<em> Nanika, too. Hope you’re well. </em></p><p>
  <em>                                                                                                            --K </em>
</p><p>He traces the <em>K</em> and laughs to himself. “‘Kay,” he whispers.</p><p>That evening, he pins it next to his bed and faces the wall on his uninjured side, muted pinpoints of light and silver hair behind his eyelids.</p><p>Right before he slips into sleep, he wonders where the injured foxbear is. If it found its way home.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear friends,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hello again! It’s been a few weeks since my last letter, but I’ve been thinking of you! Again, nothing much to report here, but the other day I caught the Master of the Swamp’s son! He was still pretty small though, so I threw him back haha. Aunt Mito took a picture of me holding him before I had to let him go. I’ll attach it!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Life’s been busy! A cruise liner came to port a couple days ago and a bunch of people were on the island. I had to rescue a bunch of folks from a foxbear den and the usual shady cliffs and stuff. Aunt Mito got mad at me because she thought I was being reckless, but I really wasn’t. Anyway, it was nice to be helpful again! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Other than that, I don’t really have news! A few of y’all have texted me and it seems like you guys should be the ones sending newsletters! (Like you, Leorio! Good luck on your finals, you totally got this!) Although I guess sending mail would make it harder to move around if you were trying to stay under the radar or something. So maybe just keep it to texts?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Either way, I would love to hear from you, no matter how boring it is. (I mean, look at me! Making news out of cruises :P).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stay safe!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p><em>Focus on what you can do now</em> Ging had said. It’s a mantra, by this point.</p><p>So Gon tries. He really does.</p><p>And he’s so grateful. For walking into that auditorium to a roar that still rings in his ears, for meeting Ging at the top of the World Tree, for everything that Killua did to save him. Sometimes he can’t breathe with the thought of it—how heavy his debt weighs, its cost in every breath he takes.</p><p>And yet—</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He helps Aunt Mito wash the dishes and chatters on while she and Abe listen. They are always happy to hear his stories, and this is Gon’s favorite parts of the day: the clatter of plates and spoons, the sound of running water from the sink, evening light turning their little kitchen to gold.</p><p>“And that’s when we met Bisky!” he says, passing Aunt Mito the last glass for her to dry. “She pretended to be a kid, but then she knocked Killua into the sky.” He smiles at the memory, hands stilling for a moment. “I couldn’t believe it, because Killua’s so strong, but Bisky has a lot of experience. So she started training us!” He doesn’t mention Binolt; Aunt Mito probably shouldn’t know about that part. “It was really rough, but Killua was there with me and…”</p><p>He pauses.</p><p>“Well, it seems like you two had your fair share of adventures,” Aunt Mito says, placing the glass back in the cupboard. “I’m glad you had fun, Gon.”</p><p>She looks expectantly at Gon, who realizes the water is still running. He turns the knob quickly.</p><p>“Yeah!” he says, with a cheerfulness he doesn’t feel.</p><p>He wipes down the last of the water on the counter and hangs up the rag on the faucet, stills again when Abe says, “Your friend seems like a wonderful young man.”</p><p>He laughs, rubs his head. “Yeah,” he says again, quieter. “I miss him.”</p><p>Aunt Mito smiles at him, her eyes a soft and a little sad. She opens her mouth for a moment, then closes it.</p><p>“Mn,” she finally says, and while it does nothing for the ache in his chest, Gon feels better, if only a little.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>—and yet he misses it. The feeling of life itself singing in his blood, the quiet hum of every breathing thing around him, the beginnings of stars in his fist.</p><p>And the worst part of it (really, he is so, so selfish, <em>God)</em> is that even through the haze of time and grief and guilt, even after a hurt he has promised to never know again—he had, for a moment, relished the strength he had possessed.</p><p>Because he had known, for a brief moment, no less than an hour, everything he would’ve become. And here is the thing he does not deserve forgiveness for, not from Killua, not from himself, not from anyone—</p><p>He had enjoyed it, in a sick, twisted way. Kite said to aim for the head, so he did; he said he would give everything, so he did that too.</p><p>How does he return from that? From a peak that no longer exists, and the valley he let himself fall into?</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>[Saved to Drafts]</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Killua,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I went to our spot. Do you remember? We watched the stars and made plans, and I told you how much fun I had when we were together. I miss talking to you about that kinda stuff.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I lied before; everything does look different now, but not because I met Ging. It’s because I met you, isn’t it? And now you’re not by my side, and I’m not by yours. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s ok, though. I understand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hope you’re well. Miss you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--Gon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had honestly forgotten until Leorio texted.</p><p>He’d spent all morning on the beach, checking out some new spots the fishermen at the docks had recommended, and he never brings his phone when he goes out. So when he returns, salt still drying on his skin and sand between his toes, he has a message waiting for him.</p><p><em>Happy birthday, kiddo</em>, it reads.</p><p><em>Oh</em>, he thinks. <em>That’s today, isn’t it?</em></p><p>The text he can’t bring himself to hope for comes sometime after lunch; he doesn’t see it until after he comes back from running some errands in town.</p><p>
  <em>Just because you’re two months older than me doesn’t mean you win or anything. I’ll catch up soon. HBD.</em>
</p><p>(A moment later: <em>Brother means to say “happy birthday!”, but properly LOL. Me and Nanika, too! &lt;3333)</em></p><p>He stares at his phone and smiles, something like hope beginning to grow in his chest. He folds his hands over the screen, breathes, and lets it go.</p><p>Later that evening, after a dinner of all his favorite foods (Aunt Mito’s meatballs with rice noodles and a savory sauce, small red tomatoes that burst sweet and fast in his mouth, the fish he had caught today with lemon and basil), Abe brings out a cake with a single candle lit atop. They sing, happy smiles all around, and Gon makes a wish.</p><p>“Your phone was going off all day,” Aunt Mito says as she cleans up. “I almost turned it off. Lots of birthday texts?”</p><p>Gon nods, feet kicking underneath his seat (he’s off dish duty today; birthday boy privilege). “Lots of people texted me! Killua, Leorio, Palm, Bisky, Meleoron, Knuckle, Zushi…even Kurapika!” He thinks about all the little notifications that had popped up throughout the day and grins. “And everyone in town said something nice. That’s how I got the flowers!”</p><p>(The sunflowers in question are now in a blue vase in the middle of the kitchen table, the green stems refracted in the swirling glass; Abe sips her tea and murmurs her approval).</p><p>“Sounds like you were the only one who forgot this year, then,” Aunt Mito says, an eyebrow raised, but she’s smiling.</p><p>“Yep.” Gon is sheepish, rubs the back of his head with a smile of his own. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Last year I almost forgot, too, but Killua actually…” He trails off.</p><p><em>Ah, how could he have forgotten</em>?</p><p>“Oh!” Aunt Mito says, remembering as well.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>It’s small—they’d been training with Bisky, and there was nothing on Greed Island that interested either of them enough to warrant a special trip to the card shop or the outside world.</p><p>So when Killua hands Gon the thing, he is confused. It’s…a piece of paper? Roughly the size of his hand, and square-shaped. He turns it over and sees—<em>oh, it’s an envelope.</em></p><p>“Killua,” he says, looking up. Killua is looking at the ground, purple high-tops kicking at a stray rock. “What is this?”</p><p>“Just open it,” Killua mumbles.</p><p>With a shrug, Gon does exactly that.</p><p>There are two things in the envelope: a letter and a photo. Gon reads the letter first, its handwriting comforting and familiar.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Gon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Happy birthday, my dear. I hope you are safe, and that you are well. I know you’re making your way in the world, and I am so proud of you. I know Ging would be proud of you too, stubborn and foolish as he is. Killua told me that you two are playing a game right now, one that Ging made. I hope you’re having fun. We love you so much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re growing up way too fast, you know that? Pinky promise to stop? (Kidding).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love always,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aunt Mito (and Abe)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S.—Hope you enjoy this little bit of home!</em>
</p><p>The photo is one of him, Aunt Mito, and Abe on the hill behind their house, their backs to the bright blue of ocean and sky. A familiar, curly-haired shadow stretches across the bottom left corner —this had been the last time Gon had been on Whale Island, with Killua. Aunt Mito had wanted a commemorative photo of Gon’s first friend coming to visit. Then, because pictures of all three members of the Freecss household were hard to come by, Aunt Mito had asked Killua to take one of all of them.</p><p>Gon traces the strong arch of Abe’s back, connects it to Aunt Mito’s arm around her shoulders, over Aunt Mito’s smile down to his hand clasped in hers, then finally up to his free hand as it waves to the person behind the camera. He remembers that day, the happiness in the space between his lungs, warm and alive.</p><p>“How did you get this?” Gon asks, voice quiet and wondering.</p><p>“Called in a favor,” Killua says, voice muffled like he’s embarrassed. Gon looks up and confirms—<em>yes, </em>that’s a blush painting itself across Killua’s face, spreading now to his neck.</p><p>“A favor? But how did you get Aunt Mito to write you here? We’ve been in the game this whole time!”</p><p>The flush is to the tips of his ears now—Gon leans forward as if pulled, all curiosity and delight—and Killua’s shoulders come up to meet his burning ears. Hands in pockets, eyes closed, lips pursed—<em>oh, this will be good</em>, Gon just knows it.</p><p>“It was…” he begins, tapping his foot now. He seems to come to a decision, then sighs. “It was when I left to take the Hunter exam. I made a few calls, got in touch with your aunt. She was able to get it back to me before I rejoined.”</p><p>Gon, leaned forward, now leans back, arms going slack at his sides. “But Killua,” he says, realization dawning, “That was—”</p><p>Killua shoves a hand forward and slaps it over Gon’s mouth. “<em>Argh.</em> Don’t mention it, ok? Happy birthday,” he says, and Gon can taste dust and dirt on his tongue. Killua’s voice turns a little panicky. “It’s just a note! Nothing big. You bought me chocolates for my birthday. Much better gift, if you ask me.”</p><p>Gon stares for a moment, Killua’s hand warm over his mouth. He knows when Killua feels his smile, because he immediately rips his hand away and shoves it into his pocket again, mumbling something about getting back to training before the old hag kills them.</p><p>So Gon keeps the smile and the letter and the picture to himself, tucked safely away in his own pockets. And when the ink gets smudged with rain, and the envelope slowly turns red with mountain dust, and even when it’s all lost in the battle with Genthru, he remembers the feeling of looking at Killua, that same warmth in his chest from the photograph, and thinking <em>home’s already here.</em></p><p>(Because Killua had taken the Hunter exam nearly three months ago, long before birthdays were even an <em>oh, that’s today?</em>, and when he presents it to Gon, the paper is still as pristine, the photo’s edges just as firm, as the day Aunt Mito must have sealed the envelope with her love.</p><p>So.)</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right!” Aunt Mito says. “A hawk came to the house a few months before your birthday last year with a note from Killua, asking if I would write a little card for you. You have such wonderful friends. Keep them close, you hear?”</p><p>Outside, the last of evening falls away, traces of sunset fading to inky blue. Below them, unseen, the soft darkness of the rushing sea. Abe nods.</p><p>Gon lowers his hand and lets loose a laugh that is more air than smile, remembers shadows just out of frame. “Will do,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear everyone, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hiya! Thank you all so much for the wonderful birthday wishes! I can’t believe I’m already 15 (hah! I’m older than you, Killua! :P). Aunt Mito and Abe made me a cake, I’ve attached a picture! I really wish I could’ve shared it with all of y’all!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For my next birthday, I wanna meet up with some of you guys! If y’all are free, of course.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you again! It means a lot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S.—the cake was vanilla with chocolate icing! It was really yummy.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He regrets his weakness, and his selfishness, and his pride.</p><p>Mostly, though, he thinks that night, the ceiling of his bedroom made soft by shadow, he regrets hurting his best friend.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>For all his adventures, Gon hasn’t considered death before.</p><p>Not really, anyway. He <em>understands</em> it in a way that most people don’t—he grew up in a world of constant decay and rebirth, after all. He is no stranger to the way life and death circle around each other, a snake devouring its own tail ad infinitum.</p><p>But to consider it beyond the objectivity, to make it personal—he is a stranger to that.</p><p>And yet, one evening on Whale Island, he realizes, truly and only for the briefest of moments, how close he had come to the end of his life.</p><p>He’s sitting on the rooftop—an old habit that even all of Aunt Mito’s chiding can’t seem to break—watching the stars blink on one by one as the last traces of sunset disappear, when the world suddenly fades to white noise.</p><p>If he had died, he wouldn’t be here, arms resting behind his head, ankles crossed near the gutter. Wouldn’t be here to feel the breath of the ocean, the last of today’s summer heat sleeping in the brick behind his back. Wouldn’t have eaten Aunt Mito’s egg salad for dinner today, wouldn’t have gotten a text from Zushi yesterday, wouldn’t have stood on top of the World Tree with Ging, the only thing he’d meant to find; would not have told him about everything he’d found along the way.</p><p>Would not have had the chance to say goodbye.</p><p>He’s panicking now, a little. The world sways before his eyes, the pinpricks of light above smearing into one another like raindrops on his window, and his breath comes fast, shallow. He’s drowning—how could he have been so stupid? How could he have almost thrown it all away like that? Like none of it mattered—like tackle-hugging Leorio or kissing Aunt Mito’s cheek or worrying about Kurapika or meeting Ging or Killua; oh <em>Killua</em>, how could he have done that to Killua, his <em>best friend</em>, <em>what’re you gonna do? Introduce him to Killua, my best friend in the whole wide world</em>—?</p><p>He closes his eyes, chest heaving like he’s chasing the end, like he’s in a tunnel but no light at his side nor ahead.</p><p>He does a mental count—five and a half shingles from his waist to his ankles, four across the span of his arms. One for each of his hands, tucked behind his head. And then the distant crash of the waves a few paces away from the edge of the garden below, evening birds singing, soft breeze at his throat and in his ears. The world comes back slowly, cautiously.</p><p>He breathes. In, out. In out. In; out.</p><p>The edge of Whale Island lies behind his house and before him, but he knows deep it goes, how wide its embrace. He knows the sea will catch him, always has. The problem now lies in the jumping, in the knowing that the weight that tethers him here does not conspire with gravity against him, but instead keeps him steady. An anchor to save him from himself.</p><p>He opens his eyes; the stars are no longer painting themselves across a wet canvas of a sky, the last light from sunset truly gone, for now. The tile beneath him, warm but cooling, is steady again; he no longer feels like he is sliding down, down, down.</p><p>His hands are starting to ache; he removes the left one and holds it up to the sky for examination; the space where it swallows the moon, thin and waning, is a gift he does not deserve.</p><p>He breathes again. In. Out.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>(Half an hour later, Aunt Mito finds him asleep on the roof <em>again.</em> She is not pleased; Gon laughs, sleepy. He climbs into his room from the window, flops on his bed, and passes out.)</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Days on the island are humid and sticky with summer heat, then they cool slightly in autumn but not too much (the trees do not turn red and shed their leaves; Gon had never seen a real fall until he passed by some forests on the way back from the World Tree). He does his homework and chores, sometimes sleeps as soon as the sun sets and sometimes when it’s nearly rising; everyday, he wakes up at dawn.</p><p>Winter arrives with a storm that makes the ocean roar and leaves a chilly wind in its wake. Gon knows it won’t snow, but it’s fun to hope, anyway.</p><p>One night, bitterly cold and especially miserable, he and Aunt Mito take all the blankets from the closet and make a massive fort in Gon’s room, the light from the lantern butter-yellow above their little pockets of warmth. They drink hot chocolate and play board games, and Gon tells her about Greed Island again (she and Abe like those stories best, or maybe that’s just because he talks about those times the most). He falls asleep under the blankets that hang from the ceiling like the tops of circus tents, hands curled inwards to his chest.</p><p>A few weeks later, Abe develops a cold, and while it’s not bad, the rattle in her lungs worries Gon and Aunt Mito. He realizes, as he brings her a fresh warm compress, that this is what happens: all breathing things must tire, eventually.</p><p>He calls an old friend.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi, guys!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Here’s a picture of me and Leorio! Abe wasn’t feeling well, so he was kind enough to come over and help! After she was feeling better, I gave him a tour of the island, even if it gets kinda depressing here in the winter (it’s less green). To everyone who’s been here before, Leorio says he likes the marketplace the most. (I think it’s just because all the vendors tried to ask him out and give him free stuff, though. There really aren’t enough younger people on the island, haha!).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Also, I’m attaching a second picture of Leorio asleep on our porch—I managed to get four hats on him before he woke up. I’m not sending this ‘til he leaves, though, so he doesn’t know yet. Hehe, sorry Leorio!)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hope all is well. I’m always around to talk! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“So you still have,”—Gon does the math—“like, four more years left? Of <em>school?</em> Yikes.”</p><p>Leorio had arrived early this evening, and after a few preliminary checks on Abe, said that it really was just a cold, and prescribed lots of bedrest and hot tea, which he’d made himself in their kitchen.</p><p>(No, he hasn’t graduated yet, Gon had explained to Aunt Mito, but he’s a Hunter with lots of practical experience. He trusts him.)</p><p>Leorio crosses his legs, though just barely. It’s kind of hard to fit all of him under their low kitchen table. He fiddles with the end of his teabag, draped over the rim of a cracked mug Gon made when he was six, and groans. “Yes, please don’t remind me. I’m already dying as it is.”</p><p>Gon whistles low, sympathetic. “I’m guessing our schoolwork is very different, but I understand a little.”</p><p>“School is school, kid. It sucks no matter what you’re studying,” Leorio says. He brings the mug to his lips and blows some air, the steam fogging up his glasses. “So, what else you’ve been up to? Besides homework.”</p><p>“Oh!” Gon perks up, rocking back in his own chair across the table, arms braced against the edge. “Well, I’ve just been hanging around the island, mostly. Helping Aunt Mito with some stuff. Sometimes writing letters!”</p><p>“That’s right!” Leorio puts the mug back down and removes his glasses to wipe them down. “Those are always fun to get. Who else is on the mailing list?”</p><p>“Hmm…” The only computer in the house is upstairs, but he remembers the names. Of course he does. “You,” he says, and Leorio grins, puts his glasses back on, “Killua, Kurapika, Ging, Palm, Bisky, Wing, Zushi…pretty much everyone? I don’t know if anyone actually reads them, but I like keeping in touch.”</p><p>“I read ‘em,” Leorio says. He takes a tentative sip of his tea. “And I’m sure Killua does too. I’m surprised you two split up, you guys were always joined at the hip.”</p><p>Gon blinks, setting the legs of his chair back on the ground. “I hope he reads them,” he says, a little quiet. He can feel Leorio’s eyes on him, so he looks up and shrugs. “But splitting up was for the best! He and Alluka and Nanika are seeing the world right now, and I don’t have my Nen anymore, so…”</p><p>“Yeah, I suppose this is good for you guys,” A pause; Leorio takes another sip. “Have you guys called at all?”</p><p>“Nope.” Gon smiles a little sadly. “I’m sure he and Alluka are busy. Wouldn’t want to bother them!”</p><p>Leorio hums.</p><p>“Oh, but Killua sometimes sends postcards,” Gon says, standing up. “Lemme go grab them. They’ve been to a lot of cool places!”</p><p>He dashes down the hallway, takes the stairs two at a time. He keeps the postcards taped up on the wall next to his bed, so he carefully unsticks them one at a time. When he comes back, Leorio is wiping down his glasses again.</p><p>“This one’s from the Great Divide, this one’s from Yorknew’s tallest skyscraper, this one is from the Diamond Fields…” Gon lays out all four cards carefully, making sure that the table is clean and dry first. “And this one’s from the Northern Forests!”</p><p>“Dang,” Leorio says, hunching forward to get a better look. “They’re really making the rounds. Good for them.”</p><p>“Yeah!” Gon says as Leorio picks up the one from Diamond Fields. “It sounds like they’re having a lotta fun. Alluka and Nanika write little notes, too.”</p><p>“I can see that,” Leorio says. He gestures to the back of the card, where Killua’s note is. “May I?”</p><p>“Of course!”</p><p>After a moment, he snickers. “Ok, what.”</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>“‘<em>K?’</em>” He puts the card back down and picks up the one from Yorknew. He’s smiling, but it’s fond. “Who does this kid think he is? God, he sounds like one of my TA’s trying to sound all professional.”</p><p>Oh, right. “What’s so funny?” Gon asks. “I thought it was kinda cool. He signs all his cards like that. Maybe it’s an assassin thing?” He flips the one from the Northern Forests over, as if the words have changed since he last read them.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, Gon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everything’s so green here. But it’s cold, so Alluka and Nanika keep trying to get me to wear a bunch of sweaters that make me sneeze. Anyway, hope you’re well. It’ll be too late by the time this gets to you, but happy late birthday.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                    --K</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S.—The girls say they miss you.</em>
</p><p>With a raised eyebrow, Leorio puts the card back down gingerly. “Yeah, right. Kid is probably just trying to sound cool. Which, if you think he does, then I guess it worked.” He leans back in his chair and chuckles. “Ah, well. You should call him, I know you miss him and he—” Leorio’s eyes drift back to the small stack— “he definitely misses you.”</p><p>Gon collects all the postcards and sits back down, his fingers running over the faded ink. “Really? I mean, I do miss him, but…” The postcard of the Northern Forests is an aerial view of the trees from far above, a blanket of inky green so dark it’s almost blue.</p><p>Leorio takes a sip of his tea. “But? If you want to talk, call him. He’ll pick up for sure. Unlike someone else we know.”</p><p>Ah, that’s right. Kurapika is still off the map. Gon looks up from his hands and winces. “Still no luck reaching him, huh?”</p><p>For the first time that evening, Leorio’s cheeriness seems to dim, a little. He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m worried about him.”</p><p>Gon bites his lip. “Yeah…I haven’t seen him since Yorknew. Didn’t you guys stick together for awhile?”</p><p>“Not for very long. The term started for me, and he went back to his bodyguard job.” He sighs. “I just…I worry. I hope he’s ok, and that he knows we’re here. I kinda miss having his serious face around all the time. You know?”</p><p>Gon swallows, pauses. He thinks of pieces that are missing, of knowing someone will be there to catch them if they fall. He thinks of pushing against the pull of hands that are not his own, until there is nothing but space between, of what it feels like to win a fight with gravity and lose the ground beneath his feet.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, and they both stare at the things in their hands. “I get it.”</p><p>It is quiet.</p><p>“Guess we’ll just have to wait!” he finally says.</p><p>“Yeah, nothing we can do about the idiots in our lives,” Leorio replies, self-assuredness back in his voice. “I’m beat, but I’ve heard you give tours of the island. Whaddya say, mind showing this old man around tomorrow? And don’t say it’s too cold, these tiny storms don’t count as winter.”</p><p>“Of course!” Gon stands so quickly his chair nearly topples over; he catches it just in time and grins at Leorio. “I’d love to! There are so many cool spots that I could show you. My favorite is actually right outside, but it’s dark right now so we can check it out in the morning. What time do you usually get up? We could catch the sunrise.”</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> getting up before the sun,” Leorio grumbles, but his dimples are showing behind his tea.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Abe’s cold goes away, and Gon waves goodbye to Leorio from the pier a few days later. His visit was too short for Gon’s liking, but he promises to keep in touch.</p><p>Winter passes. The rains continue, and it gets a little colder but never enough for snow.</p><p>“Maybe next year,” Aunt Mito says at Gon’s pout. It’s almost unfair; all of his adventures, and he has yet to see snow.</p><p>But it passes.</p><p>Then, again—warmth, slowly.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>[Saved to Drafts]</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Killua,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How are you? I hope you’re ARGHHHHHH this is impossible sorry Leorio. Maybe I’ll just try calling him like you said I should.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p> </p><p>His hands hover over the keys; the number is dialed, ready to be pushed out into the world.</p><p>He hits the red button and decides to go swimming.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Nearly a year after he comes home from war, Gon gets a phone call.</p><p>At first, he nearly falls out of the tree. He’s hanging from one of its studier branches, just an arm’s breadth from the cliffs that face the sea below on the western edge of the island. He’s supposed to be picking berries for tonight’s salad, because they’re in season now that spring is officially here, but he got distracted by the gulls that fly high overhead. They look funny upside down, like they’re swimming in an ocean of air. Which, he supposes, they kinda are.</p><p>But his phone rings in his pocket, and he realizes three things at once: one: he wore these shorts yesterday and forgot to take his phone out; two: it’s a good thing he wore them twice because Aunt Mito would’ve gotten mad at him for being so careless (“<em>what if I had washed them without knowing?”)</em>, and three: he doesn’t recognize the number.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, Gon.”</em>
</p><p>He sits up so he’s upright, presses the phone to his ear harder as if to meld his brain with the buttons. <em>“Kite?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Yes, it’s me.”</em>
</p><p>Gon’s eyes widen, blood rushing out of his head, a little dizzying.</p><p>Kite, never one for formalities, continues. <em>“I have a request. If you’re available, would you mind meeting up with me and my team? We’ve found a new species and could use your help tracking it.”</em></p><p>Gon opens his mouth, then closes it. He swings back down, and the ocean becomes the sky again. He feels the blood drain back to his head. “I still don’t have my Nen,” he says. “Is that ok?”</p><p>
  <em>“I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t.”</em>
</p><p>One bird falls into the sea-sky, or maybe it’s soaring; Gon can’t tell.</p><p>“Then, yes! Where should I meet you?”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi, guys! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Like, a few months! Well, something new has happened: Kite let me join the team!! Aunt Mito said I could go if I was reaaaally careful and made me pinky promise :D. I left Whale Island a few weeks ago, and now we’re exploring some canyons in Kukan’yu Kingdom, looking for a possible new species! It’s non-hostile, and the locals call it the “Lord of the Mountain.” Apparently it’s a relative of the common deer, except it has a bunch of eyes and its horns are gold. Kite thinks it came from the Dark Continent. But the coolest thing? It glows like lightning!! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even though it’s not dangerous, we’re still being really careful so we don’t disturb the one we’ve been tracking. Some of the people we’ve talked to (there aren’t very many who live around here) have said that if you see it, you’ll either have really horrible or really good luck. I dunno if I believe in luck, but it sounds cool and I hope we find it! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh also! I’m on the surveyance team with Kite and Spinner, we go out and scout new areas before the rest of the group moves in to collect more data! It’s different from last time but still fun. I’ve attached a photo of the three of us making camp before everyone else showed up (it doesn’t look like it, but Kite is smiling!)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, that’s all I have for now! I hope y’all are doing well, too! Stay safe out there!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>It is different this time, he supposes, because he knows he is powerless.</p><p>His legs are starting to ache after an entire night of crouching. It’s almost like when he hid from Hisoka during the Hunter Exam a lifetime ago, the first time he used Nen and didn’t even realize it.</p><p>Well, <em>didn’t</em> use Nen. Maybe it’s not so different after all, then.</p><p>He fights the urge to shift. Kite should be a few kilometers to the east, downwind. Morning sunlight is just beginning to light the mountain in front of him, dawn well on its way. From his hiding position in the hollow of an old tree, Gon watches as the fog lifts off the dewy grass, sees a flicker of movement at the mountain’s base, two stone throws away—</p><p>But it’s just a bird taking flight, pale blue wings flashing against the velvet green of the forest. Gon relaxes slightly, tries to breathe the tension away.</p><p>How long has it been? About two months, now. Two months since he had stepped off the airship in Kakin Port City. Banana had been waiting for him at the agreed-upon location—an ice cream parlor in town, about fifteen minutes from the airfield by foot.</p><p><em>How fast can you run</em>? she had said in lieu of a greeting. Gon noticed her hair had grown a little longer—it was almost past her ears. It’s grown even longer since.</p><p>Gon had shrugged. <em>I can keep up</em> he said, and then she turned around and ordered cones for the whole team, situated at camp about a two-hour hike away (according to the guide Gon had seen at the trailhead).</p><p>They made it there before their ice cream melted, obviously. All eight scoops; Gon had arrived to cheers and hair-mussing.</p><p>Now Gon is trying to remember what flavor he had gotten—<em>was it vanilla? Or chocolate? Strawberry, maybe?</em></p><p>As with everything sweet, he thinks of Killua. Another set of questions, a lot more complicated. <em>Where is he now? Is he having fun? Is he safe?</em></p><p>
  <em>Does he miss me as much as I miss him? </em>
</p><p>Gon shifts finally, only slightly and enough to feel the resistance in legs. He purses his lips and watches the dew drip off a leaf some few centimeters from his nose. He has gotten better at waiting, but. It’s still difficult. Easier to just <em>do</em>, to pick things up and turn them over, to hold them.</p><p>He wonders if Killua is still sending postcards to Whale Island, although maybe not, now that Gon isn’t there anymore. When he was home, he’d only gotten one more after Leorio had left that winter—one that featured strange, smooth canyon walls that curved in and on themselves, amber rock weathered into strange shapes and breathed to life by sunlight above.</p><p><em>“K,” </em>it had been signed. He smiles a little—Leorio was right; even in letters, Killua could still sound like Killua.</p><p>Now, out of his stupor—a bird call from up the mountain, almost like the calls Gon’s been hearing since early this morning. Almost.</p><p>Gon’s blood sings—that’s Spinner giving the all-clear. The sound hasn’t even turned to echo yet when he tumbles out of the hollow, stands quickly, legs aching in protest, and starts running, morning breeze coming to meet him with equal joy as he scales the mountainside.</p><p>Not for the first time, he marvels—this feels <em>good:</em> tension and release, the stretch in his arms, the trees flying by.</p><p>(When he first began with Kite’s team, Kite had taken him aside and said <em>Are you really ok to do this? We could use your help outside the field, too.</em> And Gon had remembered another hunt, another Kite, and the quiet of the forest at home, how it sometimes dug its fingers into his mind, froze his spine to rigidity).</p><p>He’s getting closer—the fog thickens, swirls around him in tendrils. Gradually, the air becomes thinner, the vegetation sparser, lush green trees that touch the sky giving way to small shrubs and moss that cling to scattered rocks.</p><p>(He runs and remembers that day—remembers remembering quiet dinners with Aunt Mito and Abe and pillow forts and the warm sound of Leorio’s laughter, sending letters out into the world and the feeling of blue ink in his hands.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Gon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>            This place was really beautiful, too. We should check it out together one day.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                                –K</em>
</p><p><em>I love hunting</em> he had said to Kite. <em>You do too, don’t you?</em> And Kite—Kite had laughed and told him to eat his ice cream before it melted, then walked away).</p><p>When he reaches the base of the first cliff, he doesn’t think twice. He grins, and begins to climb.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>When he reaches the break, he sees the small plateaued outcropping, like someone chipped away a part of the mountain and forgot to smooth it out. Nestled into the wall a few meters from the edge streams a waterfall that extends up into the mist, rushing down to meet a pond that swirls below. Despite the lack of an outgoing stream, the water is clear and lively; it must drain out in a hidden place, beneath the surface. The little hollow is all blanketed by that same fog, even thicker here in the shade of the mountain.</p><p>Gon finds his last foothold and pulls himself up, and there, at the pond’s edge, is the Lord of the Mountain.</p><p>Gon nearly loses his grip. “Whoa,” he breathes, and climbs up. He stares.</p><p>The Lord of the Mountain, indeed a deer-shaped beast with four glowing eyes, golden horns, and luminescent fur, stares back intently, graceful neck poised and alert. Those eyes are unmistakably intelligent, scrutinizing.</p><p>Immediately, Gon knows that he has been permitted to be here, that this is a creature that is only found when it wants to be.</p><p>He grins. <em>Who’s the hunter, now?</em></p><p>“Hello,” he says, and sits down right on the cliff’s edge. He feels the open air behind his back, but he isn’t afraid. “I’m Gon!”</p><p>The Lord of the Mountain looks at him. His face is obscured by a mane that falls down to nearly his chest, but the glow of his eyes seems to pierce through the mist.</p><p>Gon bows his head. “Thank you for letting me be here. My friends and I just want to get some photos. Then we’ll be out of your hair—er, fur.”</p><p>He tilts his head and flicks his tail once, as if unimpressed.</p><p>“Hey, this is important work,” Gon says with a smile, looking up. “A lot of people out there want to help you, but we need proof you exist before we can make this area protected.”</p><p>Another blink, then a cautious step forward. His hooves make no prints in the soft mud of the bank, his steps silent. This is why it had been so damn hard to find him, Gon thinks—he leaves no trail whatsoever.</p><p>Gon nods in encouragement. “You’re not from around here, are you? That’s why you’re not scared of me.” He laughs, a little sad. “That’s ok, though. Being from a different place just means you can find somewhere new to call home.”</p><p>The Lord of the Mountain stops about an arm’s length apart. Up close, his fur is translucent behind the glow, longer on his face and tufted near his ankles.</p><p>Slowly, slowly, he folds his legs and sits, antlers now seeming to cradle the top of the waterfall behind him.</p><p>“How do you like it here?” Gon continues. “Did you travel a long way to get here? I know I did. It’s so different from Whale Island, but it’s good. A lot bigger, that’s for sure.”</p><p>Gon waits, but the Lord of the Mountain doesn’t reply.</p><p>“This isn’t my home, though. It’s yours. But why here, of all places?” He considers those eyes, twinned and bright. “How did you know this was the right place? What made you stop here?”</p><p>Another slow blink, another flick of his tail.</p><p>“Ah, sorry for all the questions,” Gon says. He brings his chin down to his knees lowers his head, a little sheepish. “I’m not good with saying the right words. Saying words is easy, but the right ones? Not so much. I’ve been trying to get better.”</p><p>That earns him an almost-snort. The Lord of the Mountain’s antlers seem to glow brighter, the light slowly gaining strength before dimming.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking.” Gon shifts his hands so they link under his knees. “I really, really want to keep getting better. So I can be better to someone important to me. His name is Killua, I think you’d really like him!”</p><p>The sound of the water, falling and swirling, and that familiar sensation of settling, of tethering. “I don’t know if I’ll see him again anytime soon, though.”</p><p>No answer from the Lord; Gon sighs loudly, an almost-snort from himself. “This is hard.”</p><p>The Lord of the Mountain tilts his head.</p><p>“He was my home,” Gon explains. “And then I pushed him away and said some terrible things. I was selfish. I… don’t blame him if he doesn’t want me around anymore. If he’s moved on. It’s been awhile since we’ve talked.”</p><p>It feels right, to say the words that come. Like a promise.</p><p>“But just like we’re trying to protect your new home here, I wanna help protect Killua’s,” he says slowly. “Even if it’s not me anymore, because Alluka and Nanika need him, too. Even if he’s still my home, which…might not exist anymore for me. You know?”</p><p>The Lord of the Mountain stares for a moment, then lowers his head to the grass between them and closes his eyes. An invitation.</p><p>Gon reaches out and places a hand atop his head, in the space between his antlers. A crown of bone, golden.</p><p>Just like anything else that breathes, that lives and dies, the Lord of the Mountain is warm.</p><p>“Thank you for listening,” Gon says softly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe a new home isn’t so bad after all.”</p><p>They sit together for about half an hour more. Gon retracts his hand and watches the sun emerge over the peak, light making the surface of the water glitter. For some reason, its rays don’t penetrate the mist that swirls near their ankles, its movements almost alive. He watches the water; the Lord of the Mountain watches him.</p><p>Then finally, another bird call, this time from the open air behind Gon—that’s Kite saying the mission is over. A success.</p><p>Gon stands, and the Lord of the Mountain follows suit.</p><p>“I hope you’re happy here,” Gon says. He bows low once more. “And thank you again. We’ll do our best to keep your new home safe.”</p><p>The light that emanates from the Lord of the Mountain’s body grows brighter again, this time in a flash that cuts through the mist. Gon, lit aglow with wonder at the sight, waves goodbye before he has to avert his eyes—he <em>loves</em> this job, so much.</p><p>When the light fades, the Lord of the Mountain is gone, and so is the light. The pond gurgles cheerfully, the mist that covered its surface departed as well. Gon lets his hand still.</p><p>“See you next time!” he says, before turning back to the edge of the cliff. He sees the view he hadn’t before and grins.</p><p>The entire valley, surrounded by the ring of mountains that crowns its edge, is spread before him now, the old forest like an ocean that laps at the gentle slopes. Gon marks where he knows Kite is watching, where the rest of the team is camped out; he recognizes the entrance between two shorter peaks to the west where they’d arrived week ago, the rendezvous point where he will meet with Spinner and Kite before they return to their friends.</p><p>His first successful hunt since NGL—it feels good. A little uncertain, but good.</p><p><em>A new day</em>, he thinks, and leaps to meet the newborn blue of early morning.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear everyone,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We found him!! Kite says these pictures are ok to share since they’ll be up on the Hunter Website soon, so here they are! Can you see his eyes? He really did glow, too! I even got to talk to him—well, he listened to me talk ahah. But I knew he could understand me! Isn’t it great how we can connect with others who don’t even speak the same language? Now all there’s left to do is see if I’ll have really good or really bad luck. (I hope it’s good!)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re heading east to the Azia Desert for one last Hunt, and then we’re going to the small-billed swan reserve! Spinner says that this is last time to see them before they migrate south, and the team always likes to swing by if they can. (The last time I went was about a year and a half ago, if y’all remember my first letter!) I’ll send another picture!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s all I have for now! As always, hope y’all are doing well!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>They’re sitting around a fire—nights out in the desert can get cold, after all. Gon is sharing a blanket with Podungo and Monta, and the blanket looks like a like a camel hump with Monta in the middle. Everyone is celebrating their latest success—The Lord of the Mountain himself.</p><p>“Man, just look at that beauty!” Banana says, holding up her tablet for everyone to see again. “Look at ‘im! Look at his lil horns!” She’s a little tipsy; they’d found something to drink at a nearby town, now long gone from their rearview mirrors.</p><p>“Y-you did an excellent job of staying out of range of the camera, Gon.” Lin takes another tentative sip from his own can. “The waterfall really made the shot even b-better.”</p><p>“Ah, I didn’t even realize!” Gon says. He has a mug of steaming hot chocolate himself, but he likes watching his friends loosen up, their words coming more easily and their laughter more wild. “I’m glad it turned out well.”</p><p>“You really are a natural at this,” Spinner says. She and Stick are sharing a blanket, swapping a bag of chips between the two of them. “I can see why Kite wanted you to join.”</p><p>As if on cue, Kite emerges from the tent behind Gon and his blanket-mates. “Gon,” they say. “Come in for a second, will you?”</p><p>Curious, Gon stands and passes his mug to Monta. “Coming!”</p><p>The inside of the tent is sparse, economical, both a makeshift garage for their rented Jeep and a temporary headquarters. A fold-up table stands in the middle with Lin’s closed laptop, maps of the area and pencils scattered about.  </p><p>Also on the table is an open envelope.</p><p>“This arrived today,” Kite says, pointing at it. “Read it.”</p><p><em>A letter?</em> Gon opens the envelope and sees official looking typeset.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Kite—</em>
</p><p><em>Thank you for your last correspondence. As per your request, I have reached out to see if there were any Ants who were still alive and fit your description. There is one. Her name is Hina, and her last whereabouts was Meteor City, but I was unable to determine if that is where she still resides. I keep irregular contact with Welfin, who was with her last. The only information I have been able to glean from him is that her movements have been irregular for the past year, and that she still feeds on humans.</em> <em>If you and your friend are so inclined, here are the coordinates of her last known location—somewhere in the Federation of Ochima. </em></p><p>
  <em>If there is any way I may be of further assistance, please let me know. It’s the least I can do, given all that you’ve done to help me and family find one another. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Regards,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Colt</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Below are a series of numbers.</p><p>Gon looks up, intrigued and confused. “Colt is an Ant, right?”</p><p>“Correct,” Kite says. They cross their arms and lean against the table. “About a month ago, I reached out to him about possible Nen exorcists. This was his reply.”</p><p>Gon feels the paper in his hands turn to lead. He stares at it, looks back up. “So…you’re saying…”</p><p>“The Ant he mentions, Hina, can get your Nen back.” Kite looks at him, gaze narrowed. “But. She’s dangerous, as you read. In order to convince her to help you, she will probably try to strike a bargain. If you are able to convince her, you will most likely have to start your Nen training from scratch again.” Their eyes search Gon. “Are you okay with that?”</p><p>Gon opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks at the letter, the name printed bold and clear, and feels something in his chest begin to burn, its flames licking his throat.</p><p>His Nen, restored. Taken back. This is what he wants, what he has been wanting. What he still has nightmares about, sometimes.</p><p>He doesn’t consider whether or not he deserves this. He knows he does not; he has cheated death itself already, twice (once of his own volition, once of Killua’s). It is a miracle he is alive, a-year-and-half-long-and-still-counting-miracle.</p><p>But it is an offer. How could he not take it?</p><p>He breathes. “No, I’m not okay with her killing people. I’ll try to see if I can convince her to stop.” He takes another breath, chest heaving now, fist trembling. “But I want my Nen back. So I’ll find her.”</p><p>“And what if her price is too steep?” Kite asks, and <em>this</em> is what they are searching for, he realizes. He doesn’t know if his heart has the right answer, or if there even is one, but—</p><p>Gon looks at them, dead in the eye. “Then I’ll find someone else,” he says firmly.</p><p>Because this is the one thing he cannot give up—not that ring of light just outside, the laughter around it, the golden quality the Whale Island breeze takes on at sunset, standing at the sink with Aunt Mito trading grins and glasses, walking with Abe hand-in-hand on the beach with all the groceries balanced on his arms, or even the strange, postmarked distance between him and Killua.</p><p>All those letters; they were not sent to a void. There are people on the other end of them, people who care about him, deeply, and for whom Gon cares deeply about as well.</p><p>He can’t.</p><p>Kite must find whatever they’re looking for, because they nod in approval. “That’s good. If you turned down this chance, you’d be a fool.” They smile suddenly, and there is pride in their voice. “For better or for worse, no kid of Ging’s is ever a fool about hunting.”</p><p>Gon’s eyes begin to prickle. “You and the rest of the team have been so kind to me. And you reached out for my sake. Thank you, Kite.”</p><p>Kite clicks their tongue, shakes their head. “Don’t thank me. It’s partly my fault you’re in this position in the first place.” Gon opens his mouth to protest, but Kite cuts him off. “No, it is. But you finished the job. I owe you one.”</p><p>Then Kite turns away towards the entrance of the tent, long hair trailing behind. “Keep the letter,” they say, stopping for a moment. “You’re gonna need it. Oh, and—” they turn back around, something like amusement in the set of their mouth. “Since we won’t be accompanying you on this hunt, I reached out to someone else.” They pause. “Well, more like he reached out to me. His brother is following the exorcist, too, for some business with the Phantom Troupe. He didn’t give me the details, but it sounds like their leader is looking to have his Nen restored as well.”</p><p>Gon blinks. “Wait, what? The Phantom Troupe?”</p><p>Kite continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “He said he wanted to tag along, strictly for family reasons.” No, Gon’s not mistaken—that really is something sparkling in Kite’s eyes, glittering like a waterfall in sunlight. “For someone who used to kill people for a living, that kid is really a softie.”</p><p>At Gon’s wide eyes, they smile, the fog finally lifted. “Killua,” they say. “It’s Killua. He said not to worry, he’ll find you.”</p><p>And then Kite turns and leaves, a flash of firelight visible for a moment before the tent flap falls back into place.</p><p>Gon is still standing next to the table, mouth agape.</p><p>
  <em>Killua is…?</em>
</p><p>He starts pacing. Excitement, dread, guilt, joy—they all swarm in his belly, churning. His Nen back is one impossible thing. Killua…</p><p>
  <em>Wait, wait, wait. Why were Killua and Kite in contact? I haven’t spoken to Killua in over a year now. Which is fine, it’s not like either of us reached out. But what did Kite mean by ‘family business?’ Just how many siblings does Killua have? And why don’t I about them? And the Phantom Troupe? Wait, who would look after Alluka and Nanika? And how would Killua find me? How long has he known about this?</em>
</p><p>And, perhaps the most pressing—<em>does Killua feel the same way I do about this? Does he really want to…</em></p><p>He groans, presses the letter to his forehead. “There are too many things happening,” he says, voice approaching what Aunt Mito would call his whiny volume. (She says it is her least favorite voice of his; Gon suspects she is lying).</p><p>Outside, he hears a round of laughter, smells burning chocolate. It must be s’more night.</p><p>
  <em>Killua.</em>
</p><p>The storm calms, slightly. So many questions, so many unknowns. But Gon has always been good at keeping it simple.</p><p>
  <em>I want to be better. For him. A home for him, even if he doesn’t want me anymore. Because he’s my home, you know?</em>
</p><p>He stuffs the letter into his pocket and runs out of the tent. The cold air comes to greet him, along with the rush of heat from the campfire and the calls of his friends.</p><p>Everyone has a marshmallow stick in one hand and some cards in the other. Podungo always has a deck in her pack, for nights just like this one. Kite is sitting next to Lin, receiving their own stack of cards from him. When Gon returns to his seat by Monta, they nod and lift their charred marshmallow, as if in salute.</p><p>Gon breathes out once more, sees it turn to white as he tucks himself back under the blanket. He closes his eyes, memorizes the sound of laughter, the ringing voices, the slow spread of warmth.</p><p>“You playing, Gon?” Podungo asks.</p><p>Gon opens his eyes and sees small hands flashing brown as she hands out cards for the next round.</p><p>He smiles, bright in the cold of the desert. “Deal me in.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Once, when he was very little, Aunt Mito told him how mountains were formed.</p><p><em>We actually live on giant plates of land, Gon. </em>She sat on the edge of his bed, still smoothing out the covers near his chin.<em> Sometimes the plates move—</em></p><p><em>But how do they move?</em> he had asked.</p><p>
  <em>Beneath the plates is a bunch of swirling, gooey lava. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What’s that?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You remember that one time we saw that glow coming from the mountain? That was from lava.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh! So how does it make mountains?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, there are a few ways. One way is by moving the plates with their currents. You know how you can feel the water move in the ocean? Kinda like that. We can’t see these currents, but they move the very ground beneath our feet. And then—</em>
</p><p>And here, she had leaned in, hand outstretched to fit Gon’s own, and laced their fingers together.</p><p><em>And when they do, they bump into each other.</em> <em>It doesn’t have to be a whole lot—but wherever they touch, mountains spring up.</em> <em>And not just one mountain; a whoooooole bunch of them. </em></p><p>He had been in awe. Small as he was, he knew how strong these unseen forces must be, to make mountains spring up from the earth. <em>Is that how Whale Island got here?</em></p><p>
  <em>No, Whale Island got here another way. Islands like ours come from when the lava spills out of the cracks in the earth.</em>
</p><p><em>It spills out?</em> he had asked, clutching their clasped hands tighter.<em> Why?</em></p><p><em>It can’t help it, maybe,</em> she had answered, and smiled.<em> Imagine being trapped under the whole world, and suddenly you see the sky. Wouldn’t you want to meet it, too?</em></p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Stick wins three times, Kite four, Spinner twice, Gon once. They play until the fire dies down and Kite tells them to get some rest; they retreat into their sleeping bags and fall asleep one by one, under the stars.</p><p>Gon has always been good at keeping it simple. And the simple fact is, he thinks, before he drifts away, is: <em>this is what hope feels like.</em></p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>They have one last stop before Gon leaves; he wakes up the next morning with anticipation swirling in his veins, old memories he didn’t know he had brought back to life.</p><p>They drive through the desert for a week more (Kite is driving, something Gon secretly finds hilarious) to photograph the bioluminescent blooms of a local species of cacti and the strange, fluttering wisps that dance around their petals. They sit in the usual formation in the back of the jeep, fanning each other as the hot dry wind blows past the flapping tarps, while Lin fills them in: the flowers only bloom for three nights out of the entire year. After they bloom, something strange happens: another species, origin unknown, also bioluminescent, will appear and fertilize the flowers.</p><p>“Wow,” Gon whispers when they finally arrive at the first group of cacti, giants that stand guard over the empty landscape. “These are probably the oldest species we’ve seen so far.”</p><p>Monta nods.</p><p>Gon points at the closed buds that crown the top of their arms. “Are those the flowers?”</p><p>“Yep,” Stick says, dropping the last bag on the dusty ground. “We got here in good time. They should bloom soon.”</p><p>After they finish setting up camp, Kite gathers them around.</p><p>“We’re only here for a month this time,” they say. “This area should be safe, and the species we’re observing are non-hostile. Still, don’t slack off. We still have work to do before go time.”</p><p>Gon knows they are in a desert, that there is no settlement around for days. Still, he can’t help himself; he looks over his shoulder constantly. On the third day, Kite pulls him aside while the group goes collecting dirt samples.</p><p>“Look, I know you’re ready to see him,” Kite says. They’re not smiling, but it’s a near thing. “But focus on the mission at hand. He’ll find you.”</p><p>Gon takes a breath. “You’re right.” He grins wide. “He’ll show up when he’s ready.”</p><p>About a week after their arrival, the first blooms burst open. Gon watches them unfurl under the full desert moon, big and round in the sky; strangely, the flowers have no scent.</p><p>“How do they attract anything, if they don’t have a scent?” Gon asks.</p><p>Spinner shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe it’s something else.”</p><p>Still, the lights—they’re all not quite sure what to call them yet—come. They remind Gon of the will-o-wisps back in the woods at home, tiny blue-white beacons that could lead or lose you. They bump into one another, a moment of contact before slowly separating, and then finally find a purchase on the glowing centers of each flower to match the stars above.</p><p>It looks random at first, but then Banana says, “Look. It’s like they’re dancing.”</p><p>Gon looks, and indeed—their movements, though slow, are regular, purposeful. On the second night, they no longer stumble into one another as much, their trajectories more certain, and they circle through the darkness faster. By the third night, they have picked up enough speed that they leave streaks of light in their wake, and Banana is right: they dance from flower to flower, arm to arm, and the stars simply cannot compete.</p><p>Gon watches the dancing lights that rival the heavens and thinks about movements, big and small, fast and slow. He thinks of flowers that live a fortnight and mountains that live ten lifetimes. The things, unseen, that bring them together.</p><p>“Pity they die so quickly,” Podungo says when they finally disassemble their campsite later that week.</p><p>Gon hands her her deck of cards, now neatly shuffled after their game last night. Their last game together for awhile. “I think it has to be like that,” he says with a shrug, and glances at the withered buds above their heads.</p><p>“Why?” she asks, gaze curious.</p><p>“It’d be too much if it was any longer.” </p><p>They head towards Spinner’s dig site. All the way there, Gon feels something shift, feels his bones hollow out like a bird’s, ready for flight. A steadying that becomes certainty.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The small-billed swans take flight once more, a million wings that speckle the sky. Gon stands with Kite and his team in nearly the same spot as two years prior, near the edge of the cliff that overlooks the canyon below. He smiles at the sunrise, the explosion of life beneath it, his friends beside him. His time away has not dulled the beauty of it all.</p><p>A low whistle to his left.</p><p>“Spinner, you were right,” Gon says with a laugh. “This view really is worth every—”</p><p>“Whoaaaa, would you look at that.”</p><p>Gon blinks, breathes in sharply.</p><p>Slowly, slowly, he turns.</p><p>“It looks even better in person,” Killua says, hands in his pockets, like not a day has passed since their parting. “There’s so many of them.”</p><p>Gon sees the world tilt; axes reorient themselves around a single focal point. Something glows, alit once more—golden arc of bone, the sun on blue glass, magma in his chest. A shift, a single inch; tectonic.</p><p>His voice is deeper, his hair shorter, his limbs longer. His face is full of dawn and wonder.</p><p>Gon stares.</p><p>Killua looks away from the sunrise, lifts a hand from his pocket to give a little wave. “Yo, Gon,” he says, and his voice catches, barely-there.</p><p>His eyes have not changed.</p><p>This feeling of falling—Gon takes a single step and finds that he was wrong all along; he’s not falling, he is leaping—and he, pulled by a gravity he can no longer escape, lands on solid ground for the first time in two years.</p><p>“Killua,” he says, and they are in each other’s arms.</p><p>They are both shaking, and it is upon this realization that Gon begins to cry, just a little. The tears come fast and silent and are gone as quickly as they came, blooms in a desert.</p><p>It lasts for several minutes; it is not enough. They pull back slowly, arms still sharing a circle, and each begins the long process of cataloguing the changes, sees where the other ends in his mind and begins in the morning light.</p><p>They have so much to say; they do not need to say it.</p><p>“Hey, Killua,” Gon says, and he is smiling, too.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear everyone,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hello!! This will be my last newsletter for awhile. Don’t worry though, it’s for a really good reason! Actually, two reasons. The first is: I’ve found a way to get my Nen back. And I will.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But!! It’s gonna be long and probably really dangerous (sorry, just ignore that part, Aunt Mito). I won’t get the chance to write as often, but I’ll really miss this so please write to me! It just might take awhile for me to reply, but I would love to hear from you guys! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And don’t worry, I won’t be alone! Because guess who showed up? There will be no Chocorobo prizes for guessing correctly, but I’ve attached another photo just in case you want to check your answer (it’s Killua!!!!!) The picture is of us at the campsite where we watched the small-billed swans—can you believe that he’s taller than me now? It’s unfair and weird. He won’t stop calling me shortie &gt;:(</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The second reason why I will be stopping my newsletters is: I guess I don’t really feel the need to anymore? No need to write letters to home when you already are home, right?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Killua just hit me. He says I can’t send that but I’m sending it anyway :P). </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So this is goodbye for now! If we run into you on our next adventure, I can’t wait to see you! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Until then!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your friend,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gon</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks so much for reading! &lt;3<br/>my <a href="https://twitter.com/chubsthehamster">twitter</a> and <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chubsonthemoon">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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